Money is Power - A Mercenary Tale
by Hikari-J
Summary: In another reality, Love was the single weapon Harry Potter had against Voldemort. An interpretation of the prophecy which was wishful thinking. What Harry Potter had that Voldemort never knew in his life was... Money or at least this is what our young wizard concluded. Enter the single greatest Killer for Hire in the World to bring credit to the theory!
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer :** I do not own Fate/StayNight or anything from the Nasuverse or Harry Potter. If I did, it would make me obscenely rich though.

Hello ;) Time has not been kind to me as I can scarcely fit writing time in my everyday life as is. This is the first part of a Three-Four shots depending on time, and reception ;)

* * *

It was as disturbing as it was infuriating to behold.

One week ago, he saw the man he held in his eyes as a benevolent Grandfather as well as an unshakable pillar of strength die before his eyes. Said Death was unwarranted even in his old age, it was not yet in the Natural Order of things. Albus Dumbledore was a man who had lived a long time but had still beautiful years before him, peaceful years even, teaching the new generations. The elderly man was the last straw as he died before his eyes from the hand of none other than the man he put his trust in, Severus Snape. The man who he, Harry Potter hated now even more than he hated Voldemort. The man who brought the Dark Lord the Prophecy, the man who spent his time spitting on his parents's grave as well as what they stood for in life. What made it worse was that he could not do anything to stop this from happening, as he had been paralyzed by the same elderly man he sought to protect as the last thing he did in his life was what he did better than anything else.

Trying to give a second chance to a boy not yet a man on the wrong path. Draco Malfoy.

The wise wizard did not deserve such a death; killed by a man he had given a second chance only to have it returned in this fashion, killed in his own position of power, cut down by Avada Kedavra he was already dead even before he was propelled backwards, his body broken from the highest tower in Hogwarts, what should be a school becoming a scene of unholy murder.

As he had tried to avenge his Grandfather, the Boy-Who-Lived was made a fool of by Severus Snape who revealed himself to be someone he ironically trusted all year long… The Half-Blood _Prince_. He could not hold a candle to him, Harry was utterly defeated without his opponent even trying. Said bastard even had the gall to make it sound like a lesson, hammering home that he was a student defying a master.

Lord Voldemort was even more powerful and habile.

Before Dumbledore's Death, the fact that he had to fight Voldemort seemed to be in the distant future, Dumbledore being the sturdiest wall against Darkness. Then he died and he was left as the hope of the Wizarding… No, the whole world, Voldemort would annihilate everything which did not fit in his grand plans for Pureblood Supremacy.

Outnumbered. Outgunned. They would be fighting a hopeless war with him, a sub-part fighter as the figurehead and rallying force, he knew better than to put any faith in the Ministry, too many sympathizers to Voldemort's cause were to be found there… The Order of the Phoenix had lost said Phoenix. Which translated as well as the literal being, Fawkes as much as the dead partner of said bird.

Even Dumbledore's Death did not come close to the disgusting and infuriating sight he beheld before him in bringing the truth of the war to his eyes.

Diagon Alley, the first and foremost magical place he was introduced to as a wide-eyed eleven years old boy was deserted instead of bubbling with people, the alley's stores usually so colorful were now not emitting any light as the stores were closed their front clad with countless wanted posters eying the Alley in haughty disgust.

Yet, he continued his walk clad in his invisibility cloak, his father's heirloom. What he was doing was incredibly dangerous yet he could not bring himself to care. He was not going back to the Dursley when he could be doing useful things.

His destination? Gringotts, the Magical Bank. One would be tempted to believe the Goblins were neutral but that would only be wishful thinking. The Goblins went to whichever side was victorious and the most profitable. Something he discovered as he perused the records of the First War days after Dumbledore's Death. When the Dark Lord was most active, in 1976, Goblins divided in several tribes, most of them staying neutral while dealing with the Dark Lord's servants on the side. Some tribes joined Voldemort outright, leaving a handful of Goblins in a tentative cooperation with the Order of the Phoenix and the Ministry.

He could have hoped against hope that Goblins would help him but everything that happened to him to the last straw, Dumbledore's Death taught him something incredibly important.

The default emotion one should have towards people not having proved themselves on your side was distrust and wariness.

The Dark Lord _had_ to have spies within Gringotts, going in as Harry Potter would be nothing short of suicidal, he would bet his wand hand that not one minute after Voldemort would appear himself in the bank's entrance hall ready to kill him. The option of going as anyone other than himself was not there to play with either. He had to access his accounts so there was no choice but going as Harry Potter.

As he stopped at the very doors of the premier and only Wizarding Bank of Britain, he exhaled silently. He had mulled his plan for days now, something prompted by his altercation with Severus Snape and his lessons with Albus Dumbledore. Had he waited any longer, he knew he would not have the guts to go through with it but now…

Harry laid in wait for a client to appear to the doors which took approximately thirty long minutes in which he was losing his nerves. So much could go wrong with this operation, if he was caught it was over. If it did not work, it was also over.

Either way, it was an incredibly risky plan, a foolhardy one.

A Gryffindor one.

Making it exactly his kind of plan. As the dodgy figure of Mundungus Fletcher appeared on the stairs, Harry followed silently behind hidden behind his Cloak on which a silencing charm had been applied. Completely and thoroughly concealed he made his advance. The once incredible and securing aura of the Wizarding Bank had turned into a strangely oppressing and unforgiving one.

He was not exactly here as a thief but it felt like entering in an enemy stronghold alright.

As Harry recognized at his uniform an account manager, he walked right behind him. It was the moment of truth for which he had exercised for. An exercise which made him no better than a Death Eater in his eyes if not in the Ministry's. With decision he calmed his nerves, mustered his will and spoke softly.

" _Imperio_ ".

Casting the spell contrary to have it cast on you was very different. You did not feel an alien calm or anything such, it was all the contrary. You felt a disgusting rush brought by being in control of someone else. You also learned that said calm did not come immediately on the target. In a fraction of a seconds several things happened, at first you had to push your will outside of your body, through your wand as you felt out your target's, then you seized said will and you crushed it under your own -replaced it- with your own as your target's conscious mind was overridden by your intent. It was then that your target could fight back with it's own will. All beings had a subconscious will against outsides mental attacks but it was only dangerous if your target conscious mind realized what was happening as a target's will directed by a conscious mind was several times stronger. He imagined it was the core principle of Occlumency : Learning to muster your will at all time through your conscious mind.

In the end though, it all came down to a mental tug-of-war between the caster and the victim's wills.

Even though Harry was never one to be willful to control someone in such a way the necessity of the act made his considerable will which had destroyed the Dark Lord's strongest Imperius act out against the Goblin's.

In only a fraction of a second, a member of the most vicious warrior race on Earth's will was subverted as he was turned into a puppet to Harry's will much to his own wanting to throw up.

'Direct me to the highest ranked member in the Bank.' Harry thought as his will was enforced at once. He followed silently the Goblin through a corridor he never once went through.

'Disable any security measure so as to not alarm anyone' It would not do to be spotted.

The corridor's walls and floor was made out of _solid gold_. The path was highlighted by a red carpet-like flooring under their feet while the ceiling was made of richly decorated glass. 'Who is he directing me to?' The young man thought 'This part of the bank looks like a Palace…'

Their walk continued in silence, sometimes coming across Goblins guardsmen looking unburdened by the heavy metallic armor they sported across their whole bodies, the Goblin under his thrall being as useful as he thought before. Nobody even suspected something was amiss as they closed in. As they strove forward Harry's mind was at war with itself.

'Am I doing the right thing?' He thought 'I just broke into Gringotts, used an unforgivable curse onto a Goblin and am seemingly breaking into what looks like a castle more than a bank! Hermione would have my head…' Gulping at the thought he clenched his hand on his wand 'That's the only feasible issue out of this mess however…'

He was distracted out of his musings as their path was stopped by humongous ornate golden doors decorated by weapons-like carving alongside important-looking goblins guarded by guardsmen. On it, foreign words were etched. ' _Gobbledygook_ ' he thought.

It was time, his Goblin put his hand on the door as they waited. Soon enough the doors opened.

As Harry peeked inside he was gobsmacked. The only thing he had witnessed before coming close to this was the Headmaster's office in Hogwarts! Even said office was not as lavish as this one. Ornate instruments were displayed on solid - _was that silver?_ \- silvery shelves as they expelled a soft lilac scent. Between the shelves were armors which reminded him of Hogwarts besides the fact that they were G oblins sized. Unlike the bronze armor worn by the earlier Guardsmen however these were far shinier, they had to be made of silver or a silver-like metal as they looked more like works of art than instrument of war. Each armor was holding a different weapon, the first row of knights wielding Axes, the second one Swords and Shields, the third one War-Hammers as the final one, on each sides of a massive wooden desk were wielding ornate Broadswords much like Gryffindor's.

All in all, this looked more like a Warlord's room than a banker's, the only remotely 'normal' furniture in the room was the massive desk made of unidentifiable wood. Said desk was massive which would have looked comical when compared to a Goblin's size if not for how carefully studied this was. The Goblin receiving them was sitting on a highchair, dominating the massive desk while the 'guests' chairs were human-sized and only reached about half the desk height. To put an end to this, there was a painting, unmoving of said Goblin in his younger days as he was standing over a pile of skulls.

This was a show of domination.

Their 'host' was an elderly looking Goblin sporting a hard, blood-thirsty look belying his years. His skin, covered in scars was several shades darker than the members of his species he had met up until now, surely a consequence of his advanced age. This however did not diminish one particular gut-feeling Harry had.

'It would only take this Goblin one move to kill me before I could cast a spell' He could recognize this worriedly, this Goblin had… A particular Aura which made him almost turn back from where he came.

As under his commands the Goblin under his thrall who he absently noticed was named Snakefang - How ironic - began speaking with the Elder Goblin in Gobbledygook thus distracting him the young wizard mustered his will. He had read up on the Imperius spell. The more people you put under the spell, the more your will was stretched thin. It was not so much a matter of power than _Will_ power. The strongest the will of the targets and the higher their number, the more difficult it became holding them. It started to show by a strangely unfocused gaze making them easy to identify as preys of the Imperius Curse to outright fighting said curse. Worse comes to worse they would break free from said curse, he would not have another chance to put them under before they raised the alarm, he would be caught.

He only had one chance.

Raising his wand to the Elder Goblin's head, the one named Ragnok, director of the English Branch of Gringotts he put as much power and will he could muster in his spell.

' _Imperio.'_

Once more the disgusting rush of euphoria came over his mind as he used the Forbidden Curse. Unlike before though, it felt like white-hot iron rod which he would have likened to the Cruciatus bore themselves in his brain almost making him release Snakefang and abort his current casting. The war veteran's will was countless times stronger than the young Goblin's, akin of an angry Dragon in its intensity the Elder had seen his fair share of wars as much external as internal in his ascension to power. His will instead of an abstract thing, unfocused was a sharp weapon, honed by decades of fighting, of surviving. In Harry's Mind-eye a scar-riddled Hungarian Horntail was staring him down, burning everything around him in white-hot fire. This was what he had to subvert.

His mind divided in two entities at this instant, one conscious of the waking world as he fed power to his wand, to the curse while the other was fighting in his mind-eye a gigantic black dragon.

However Harry remembered painful hours of practice, in this mental tug-of-war he was not bereft of weapons. His will also tempered by years at the tender and uncaring hands of the Dursleys, countless brush with Death at Voldemort's plots and his most recent escapades had honed his will to survive to a terrifying weapon. He needed what he had come to seek today to end this war. To avenge his Parents, Sirius and Dumbledore.

He did not care what sort of bastard he had to become in order to do this, otherwise he would not have come today. Restraint was forgotten as he imagined it.

His mind conjured the Goblin's will as an Hungarian Horntail, however the Dragon while terrifying was not the most lethal beast he had encountered in his life. By far it was not. Squashing down his disgust he fed more power to the curse as the normally invisible spell became blinding, as his wand seared into his skin. His Will and Power turned the figure he was before into a massive one. Elongating itself as his eyes turned in his mind-eye from green to sickly yellow his body became that of a giant snake.

The King of Serpents, the Basilisk he had encountered in his Second Year.

Slithering to the Dragon, he coiled on it, immobilizing it as the Dragon thrashed against him. Instinctively, he bit down on the Horntail's neck, severing hardened scales like so much butter as his fangs injected poisonous venom in the Goblin's will figurative bloodstream. His coils finishing the work as he crushed the Dragon's body which had gone limp.

Suddenly, he was fully back to the waking world, his mind feeling no strain from the now two links he had to both Goblins wills.

However his body was exhausted from the strain of the magic he had exerted. He did not understand how people like Lucius Malfoy could cast the spell effortlessly, was he really that much below them in terms of magical prowess? That was a disheartening thought.

He did not get the memo however that nobody besides maybe _Voldemort_ would have been able to put Ragnok under Imperius that efficiently.

* * *

Even now, he did not realize it but the first phase of his plan which was 'Enter Gringotts, put a Goblin under Imperius, get to see the most influential Goblin in the bank and put him under Imperius' was a success.

It was time for phase two however, and that one would be the most important. He had racked his brains for days after the Headmaster's Death and that's when he received a letter from none other than Dumbledore himself. He had put him in his will and he was one of the sole beneficiary with Hogwarts itself set to inherit most of Albus Dumbledore's fortune and artifacts. At first he had been considerably let down, when he saw the familiar, reassuring handwriting of Albus Dumbledore he had hoped against hope that his Death was only a play, that he was alive and was telling him so. It was not to be. The letter did not even contain directives, it only contained his inheritance which was a provision made several months prior he found.

This letter however as unintentional as it was for Dumbledore made Harry think.

He thought about everything Voldemort had that he did not, Power was obvious, Knowledge too, Immortality as disgusting as it was too, Talent, Followers. It was demoralizing to see how much Voldemort had on him, how huge the gap was. Then, as Harry sighed he wryly thought about what he had that Voldemort did not as an attempt to make a joke at his own expense.

' _I have an invisibility cloak, a scar, and a broom, I will go far with that' He thought, trying to take amusement at his own predicament. 'Oh, and I have heaps of money that I have no use for.'_

That's when it hit him. He had money. He was loaded from his Parents, Sirius's and Dumbledore's wills and it only brought him sharp pangs of pains as he remembered their deaths. But that was something he could use. He could use such money. His first thought had been to fantasize about him hiring tutors to train him into something capable of rivaling Dumbledore himself, someone capable of ending Tom Riddle.

However, this was squashed as soon as he thought about it. How much time would that take even if he did not sleep? How many _years_? Had he a time-turner it would still be close to impossible. He needed such power _now_. Any days where he left the Wizarding World under Voldemort's figurative thumb was a death on his conscience. Any days where he was not _doing_ something to kill Voldemort and Snape was unbearable.

He _needed_ to do something. That was precisely what he was doing now.

'Deactivate any security system in this room, any listening charm, or devices or anything that could be used against me in any way, shape or form' Moody had taught him well he thought with a smile nostalgic smile.

Clearing his voice, he prepared for what he had rehearsed. The great thing about Imperius was that you could order your target to do anything. Anything like speaking only the truth, making it the most potent truth serum, available only at the flick of a wand instead of a lengthy brewing process. The second thing was that he did not have to worry about being swindled or betrayed by the Goblin. It was the ideal solution, and he hated himself for it.

"I'm Harry James Potter, and from now on I want you to only speak the truth. Furthermore I want you to indicate me the best ways of doing what I'm about to ask of you"

As the Goblin acquiesced, he felt elation, it was working.

Eyes narrowing Harry continued "I want all of my assets, monetary or otherwise transferred to the muggle accounts written here." Pausing, he withdrew a piece of parchment from his pocket, placing it on Ragnok's desk. "Make it untraceable from any party, even yourself." He added, for good measure.

It was testament to the curse efficiency that the Goblin did not even blink at basically robbing himself. Truly the Imperius curse was the most hideous of the three unforgivable. Dumbledore once said it, there are worse things than Death or Pain. Having's one mental integrity breached in such a way was enough to make him sick.

The rough yet clear voice of the Goblin spoke in English for the first time to him "At the end of the day everything will be done."

Nodding to himself, Harry breached one "Now, I will need your assistance." As the young wizard said earlier, training himself was no option, yet considerable monetary assets opened another way for him, an obvious one. What he needed was connections, information which could not be accessed from mere books or newspaper. He needed the unsavory kind of information only someone dealing in money would know.

"I need the best people or person money can get me to kill Lord Voldemort."

One could have heard a pin drop in the room at the ludicrous yet serious declaration. It was something he had mulled over. War, he had learned in elementary school, before even entering Hogwarts cost money. History had taught him that money won wars. As he reviewed the First War between Voldemort and the Ministry he took notice of one fact. One singular fact.

On Voldemort's side, money came from his followers. From the history lessons on Voldemort's youth provided to him by Dumbledore he learnt that Tom Marvolo Riddle only owned the clothes on his back. He had no inherited wealth, the Gaunt having been broke long before his birth, after Hogwarts he took a miserly job at Borgin's&Burkes chasing for artifacts "Worthy" enough to entrust parts of his "Precious" soul to. After abandoning said job he started recruiting for his campaign.

This conducted him after some research to a likely conclusion : Voldemort had no real assets of his own besides his followers money. Whereas he had more money than he could spend in one lifetime.

Said money was his ace in the hole. He would out-fund Voldemort, he would hire wands capable enough to end him…

Why was Ragnok shaking? As his eyes took in the Goblin's form, he seemed to be struggling with something, was it a consequence of his order? What had brought this one?… "What is it, Ragnok?" To be safe he put more power on the Imperius, reasserting his will which had fought back for a singular moment.

Stopping struggling Ragnok answered a feeling of peace coming back across his features "I know of a man who would be the best for said job, but contacting him would bring more danger to this society as a whole than Voldemort himself, for now at least." The calmness of the Goblin's voice belied the gravity of his words.

This was worrying. "How… Could it be more dangerous than Voldemort?" His curiosity piqued he asked. There was no harm in that, and if the man was that good it could be reassuring.

Ragnok pursued "It has to do with our society's history." Harry motioned for him to go on "Most people nowadays besides those in power or interested enough to research it don't know of it, but wizard are not the only kind of spell-casters there are in this world, there are two societies which are almost completely separated." This startled Harry, he knew he did not know much about the Wizarding World at large, but _another_ society of spell-casters at large?

Hesitantly, the wizard touched the Elephant in the room "Another society? Tell me everything!" Throughout all his time at Hogwarts he never learned of this. The possibilities alone were incredible or terrifying depending on their willingness to be allies.

In a monotone the aged Goblin provided more information "Not much is known like I said about them, the only thing that we know about said spell-casters is that their approach to magic is different than ours for unknown reasons. Most of them would not bat an eye at abducting children from Wizard as well as Goblin or even Centaurs, thus a contract was established centuries ago, at the very age of Merlin and King Arthur. We can only presume we had something they wanted, that we gave them for them to agree to it. Much like an earlier version of the Fidelius Charm on a paper form, enforced with blood of which the specifics have been long forgotten to time we managed to make our existences a secret from them. A secret of which the whole Wizarding World is keeper to, and should stay as. Why you may wonder? Because the only thing on their mind is the pursuit of knowledge which has been described in our society earliest writings best left alone. They are willing to commit atrocities in the name of that forbidden knowledge. As such, no one, especially not the magical creatures would be safe from them."

As a wide-eyed Harry was too enthralled by the story, the Goblin was free to keep explaining "The workings of the magic then was obscure but this much is known : You can only betray said secret willingly, by willingly seeking one of them out. At the time even one of them learn of the secret they also become secret keepers and can in turn inform other… "Magi" as they call themselves." Even under the Imperius, Ragnok paused for gravity "You understand why we are speaking about that don't you?" The Goblin asked in an inquisitive tone.

And Harry knew between dread and anticipation "The man you are speaking of is one of these…Magi isn't it?" At the Elder acquiescing nod the wizard weighted his options. The Magi being described were visibly dangerous enough to incite dread in an Imperius victim. They did not seem to be dangerous in their powers but in their willingness to do anything even highly morally reprehensible deeds for knowledge. It was basically a whole society of Department of the Mysteries workers. The thought was frightening, he had seen enough in said Department as well as heard to have shivers running down his back. Would contacting the Man be worth it? "Why would you recommend the man in spite of this then?"

"We only know of him thanks to our overseeing of the World's finances, especially the Black Market. The Man, one _Kiritsugu Emiya_ is a killer for hire, a mercenary. The reason which I would recommend him though instead of others -safer- options is his _**reputation**_ …"

The heavy emphasis on the reputation had the last Potter questioning Ragnok on it, the answer however would prove most interesting.

"Kiritsugu Emiya specializes in hunting mages down as well as other abominations. He is ruthlessly efficient at his job, more so than even _myself_ " The Goblin sported a strange expression between jealousy and awe on his face "As such, he has earned a most fitting moniker…"

" _The Magus Killer._ "

* * *

In the end, Harry had come so far today and in the last days, risked so much on this plan that he realized that he could not back down. With Ragnok under his continued control which he opted to keep since one never had too many assets to fight a war he planned and plotted. It turned out, Goblins were experts when it came to restricting magical contracts. However it was not as many could believe due to enforcing it on their clients as such an occasion came once in a blue moon. Nor was it to oversee contracts between wizards in business. Actually, the real reason was something the Head Goblin would have never told him had he not been so throughly ensnared. Their acute knowledge of Magical Contracts came from having so many enforced upon them throughout the course of their wars and rebellions with wizards and even more so from trying to find loopholes in said contracts. In said binding he had called them.

It turned out, as he forced Ragnok to say it, said Goblins had found several of them in the last decade, meaning that the winner of the War between Voldemort and the rest of Wizarding Britain would have while weakened a Goblin Rebellion on their hands… At least this was before Harry's meddling.

Maybe the fact that he had averted a Goblin War would make up for the use of Unforgivable should he be caught later on? It turned out they had been increasing their numbers while hidden as well as manufacturing weapons, something which had been expressively forbidden besides on the odd happening of a Wizard ordering them… Or to be used culturally, for their _"Sports"_. The obvious loophole was that they had to be _forged_ for their sports, nothing was said on their use.

Wizards seriously lacked common sense, but it turned out that so did Goblin, for it was Harry who came up with the idea of enforcing a Magical Contract upon the one he would hire for his Dark Lord problem.

He had no idea on the ways one could contact a Magical Killer, he had expected having to go down Knockturn Alley, turn in a dark alley in order to hand a craft envelope containing a name and a requisite amount of money.

It turned out, he had read too many misinformed books in his youth. As rattling as it was, buying someone's murder was strangely mundane. If you had the knowledge that is… It was no different than ordering something through the mail, a simple money transfer passing through several secures location with an end destination as well as a well crafted letter. The Goblins had put him through to the Killer in a simple matter of days alongside the promise of a hefty sum. The only thing that was said was that the job would be explained to him in a secure location and the money would be given to him should he agree to it.

Renting out a secure safe-house was left to Ragnok's hands whose… _Voluntary_ help was indispensable. Truly, his plan would not have succeeded without putting him under the Imperius. One could even go as far as saying that his plan would not exist without the Goblin.

The magisterially crafted contract was a Masterpiece of Goblin and Wizarding work. Several failsafes had been entombed in it. In a nutshell, as most of specifics still gave the Potter a headache - Truly, their world was messed up to need these things - the contract would ensure once he was signed that the Killer was unable to speak in any way of anything he had learned from Harry, intentionally or unintentionally under the pain of dying if he even tried to. The Killer would also die if he tried to show, to demonstrate, or to indicate to anyone any of the secrets he had learned.

These were only the first measures.

One would ask why he did not simply put the man under Imperius too, since he was now too far in to shy of that. The issue though was twofold, first and foremost Ragnok was not sure about anything concerning how the unforgivable would work on said Magi, who could know if they had not developed a way to counter such mind attacks? If it was remarked then he would be in the same room as a very competent man who made his life off killing spellcasters, not a rejoicing perspective. The second issue was that he could not cast the Imperius on anyone remotely as strong willed as Ragnok without potentially risking freeing said Goblin from the curse which would have devastating consequences, as long as he had not obliviated him, something he did not know how to do well enough to ensure he would not end up like Lockhart, thus losing a very beneficial "Ally".

It was up to him then to hire the man. The man who was now approaching the house's door as he learned from the proximity ward, the only ward which was put upon the house to ensure the Magus would not feel threatened… Which would not bode well, if he thought it was a trap, it was a dead sentence.

It was the moment of verity.

* * *

The night had already fallen upon London as a figure approached an isolated house. Over the span of his life thus far the individual had seen his fair share of jobs if they could be called as thus, he always however kept a right to himself to refuse those he found 'distasteful'. Distasteful was only a pretense though because for this man, his job was also a pretense. A pretense hiding another pretense. He was a Killer for hire, the epitome of someone bereft of moral to the population at large, to his clients, to his victims. Some would say greed was all the motivation he needed.

To a small fraction of people, truly they could be counted on four fingers, he fought for an impossible dream. To save people, a foolish errand. As he understood growing up you could only be a Champion of Justice while being a child, for the reality of the world was to save someone you had to spite someone else's interests. He had come to reach an unsatisfying balance, weighing all lives on a scale.

He would kill one people to save a hundred.

He would kill a hundred to save a thousand.

He would kill a thousand to save a million.

Without limits, trying to bring salvation. A lonely path indeed.

It was only yesterday, while he was on an errand for his wife - _Another sacrifice_ , he thought, steeling himself - that he received the strangest of missives indeed. Like he already reflected earlier, he had had his fair share of odd proposition, this one however came close to the top of the most bizarre ones. Sent to him expertly through underground channels, truly untraceable to the best of his means, it was a job offer. An urgent one from the look of things. He was not dupe however, someone having the means and most importantly the mere knowledge of allying mundane and obscure magecraft to get to him was worrying.

It had the mark of a very dangerous individual.

Adding to the the effect, said person had asked him to come himself to a secluded location at a precise hour, to come unaccompanied. It truly reeked of a trap in his senses, yet…

The missive offered a truly massive amount of money, the kind of which could finance liberations efforts, war effort in dangerous, war-torn zones such as the middle-east for a decade. In one job. Some would say with reason that it was too good to be true, they would be right in his mind, he would be the first one to say such.

However, on the off chance that it was, he could not afford to miss the opportunity.

As the Magus Killer, he was many things but foolish was not one of them. He had not survived thus far by being foolhardy. Thus, even with the short notice he had, his assistant and himself had made of this place the most secure in the isles. There was no are in a radius of two kilometers from the house, as the very center of it left uncovered. From recording cameras to familiar to infrared monitoring, the perimeter was clear. Magically-wise the area was only protected by the most peculiar bit of magecraft he had encountered, one from what he detected served as a mere proximity ward.

The house had been inhabited but aside from the person himself - A male he figured - there was no presence at all. If this was an ambush, the person had to be remarkably confident in his skills, another proof of the individual potential danger-level maybe?

The Killer for hire was as far removed of a trusting person that it was laughable to even think of him truly trusting someone, much less such a shady person. As such, he had several aces upon his sleeves besides his own abilities. One was Maiya, his assistant who he had saved on a battlefield years ago as well as trained himself. Armed with a sniper riffle she wore infrared glasses allowing for her to get a headshot from well outside the proximity ward. What was interesting however was not the rifle, or the glasses though.

Even though he was loathe to part with it, Maiya did not know she had it, the very first bullet her riffle was charged with would sign the downfall of the individual inside even with the merest of grazes.

Origin Bullet, his first and most deadly mystic code, a true " _Magus Killer_ " weapon born of his own entrails. It was as if he was destined to such a title with his body bearing such a power. From his ribs his once mother-figure extracted a number of bullet best left unknown to any other party than himself, much like the bullets very existence. Born of the aspect of " _Cutting_ " and " _Tying_ " the bullet upon impacting a magus or his mystery would find his active magic circuits torn apart, then tied back together in the least efficient way, essentially _short-circuiting_ themselves. It was an instant death for a Magus, even more so with the more circuits one had. If not dead, the receiving spell-caster would find himself bereft of the ability to _cast_ anything at all.

The worst fate for a Magus apparently.

The very fact of him being able to do such a thing would mark him with a sealing designation if only for the threat of said ability. To him however it was simply another tool for his area of expertise.

One wrong move, and the bullet would impact both the proximity ward being sustained by the individual own mana as well as said individual. The man would never even realize he was dead.

As such it was not to him to bear hope the mark proposal was genuine.

It was to the magus inside to be sure not to try and pull a fast one.

The apparently unkept man, clad in a black trench coat not quite reaching his feet dragged on the lit cigarette he held at the corned of his lips, further imbibing his black hair assorted to his equally black pants and jacket of the rough smell of tobacco as he opened the door.

It was the moment of verity.

* * *

Here it is, this was part 1 ;)

As always, do not forget that Reviews are like meat, it gives us authors the energy to write to feel our work is appreciated :D


	2. Chapter 2

Welcome Back!

The past month has been hectic, University is Hell for free time, I cannot play, I cannot go out, and I cannot write excepted during some classes which manage to make an interesting subject obnoxiously boring.

Anyway, this chapter has been in the works for a long period and yet I cannot seem to be satisfied with it. The outline of the Story has been finished before it even began, but getting there while staying in character and setting up what is to come is difficult. I'm so anxious to get to the fight proper that I'm having difficulties not experiencing Writer's block, paradoxically.

First I would like to thank you all reviewers for your meat, it helped me a lot during said period of writer's block.

Anyway, on to the story (And disclaimer from chapter one still applies.)

* * *

As Emiya Kiritsugu entered the small house, the creaking of the door accompanied his step, making him unconsciously clench his shoulder as well as tense his muscles. The Assassin overlooked the room in a large sweep searching for threats before zeroing in the only other occupant of the room aside for him. It was a scrawny teenager, no older than maybe sixteen years old. Heavy glasses suggested sight impairment which could be useful in a potential confrontation, his frame was lithe and neither was it untrained or was it overtly muscular which spoke of prior training however most likely not in combat as his stance was too unguarded in spite of his obvious wariness. Either he was extremely confident or extremely foolish. This was the judgment he wanted to have, however…

His eyes gave him pause.

Green and intense eyes were in no way hidden from him and whereas his posture spoke of an insecure young man, his eyes spoke of hidden, strong steel. A deadly sharpness that would reveal itself when backed into a corner. The resolve of a man who had seen enough of the World to make a choice and fighting to live with the consequences.

For some reason, this gaze unnerved him.

The hitman circled the table slowly, in a manner reminiscent of a predator but too calm for it to be, it was an analyzing gaze. Picking for weaknesses to be exploited with lethal prejudice at a moment notice. The sight slightly unnerved the younger male it seemed as he tensed every time he took a step before relaxing, maybe so as to not seems unsuited as a client?

* * *

Harry felt his nerves start to leave him steadily _and quickly_ at the same time.

Knowing and anticipating an encounter with the Killer isn't the same as actually meeting him in the flesh. He didn't know what he expected - From a huge bald man with lots of scar to the shady back-alley dealer passing through the cliche mafioso he imagined several cases more and more rapidly as time passed to the fateful moment.

It was at the same time everything he expected and not at all what he did expect.

The man almost seemed… Mundane, in all senses of the word. He looked like any working man wrapped in a long perfectly-fitting trench-coat over an assortment of ambivalently Business like and casual wear. What enforced the "Muggle" feeling was the mass produced Cigarette he had in his mouth, expertly clenched between his lips more like a bad habit that didn't want to stay away. He had never seen Wizards smoke cigarettes before, even muggleborn ended up adopting an old fashioned Pipe.

This almost made him seem harmless but…

He had an "aura". An irrational feeling assaulted him as soon as he saw him, the feeling to run away from danger. The man in front of him was poised for assault yet standing in a casual stance, his unkempt appearance more of a concealing for his true activity it seemed. This was a man that seemed to have conflict as an acquired normality to the level of Mad-Eye Moody. Speaking of Eyes… What scared him the most was the man's eyes.

He had deep black eyes, almost empty but filled with a cold burning resolve even in this situation, eyes that coldly assessed him, almost like the probe of a legilimency attack. As the Killer began to circle the table he was reminded of a shark assessing his prey before leaping at the slightest trace of blood.

Harry almost lost his nerve then and there but he steeled himself thinking that he already got this far. He rationalized that his feeling of doom was a good thing considering this man would be his mean of taking Tom Riddle out. The scarier, the better.

Against Voldemort he at least felt he could fight back, here the feeling was different, he thought he could fight back but felt he would be picked apart. There would be no posturing or grandiloquent speeches. There would only be an execution and the collecting of whatever the Killer wanted from him.

He had to get him on his side.

* * *

From an outside perspective, it wouldn't have been difficult to see that both participant of the little meeting were wary for their own reasons. While the older man was getting ready to take down a possible threat, the younger one was doing a rather good job at it. Staring directly at the older man he looked ready to deliver as good a battle as he could if it came to it. Although it was clear he rather hoped it wouldn't devolve into such. He did not come to seek conflict it seemed.

Both moving and unmoving man were staring at each other, in an almost silent agreement that whoever spoke first would be the more at risk.

Screw it, he thought, wasn't he a Gryffindor ? "Are you Kiritsugu Emiya?" Harry said clearly with a voice which managed not to break.

"You seems to have me at a disadvantage from the beginning." Said killer drew on his cigarette and if he felt annoyance at all, it didn't show on his face "You obviously know who I'm yet, I have no idea who you are." he inhaled sharply.

The strangest thing happened, of all the justification the Emiya expected, a slight blush of embarrassment wasn't one, was this man really a magus trying to buy out someone's murder or a schoolboy ? "I'm Harry Potter" he said quickly, almost expecting a recognition, but to lend credit to Ragnok's stories, there were none. "As to why I'm contacting you, I cannot bring myself to be skittish with it, I want you to kill someone".

Kiritsugu mentally whistled, not a schoolboy then. A mask to feign weakness ? "What I find most peculiar is how you managed to both find me, and contact me so efficiently. By yourself ? What do you exactly want ? I cannot believe you would operate alone as I have difficulties associating the skills you showed, with the way you look as well as your age. You had help most likely, what I would like to know is why, and how ?"

If Harry expected this to be easy and to be guided through the steps, he would have been disappointed. He obviously had to be more forthcoming which would be an issue if he had to reveal anything before signing the contract…

The contract.

Harry sighed "I would be glad to tell you everything, in details even, however I cannot do so until we sign the binding contract as the informations I'm about to reveal could have grave repercussions for each of us".

The silence returned

'How convenient' thought Kiritsugu "If I sign this contract, this forces me to carry out the killing, what if I want to know who it is I'm contracted to murder?" It would not do to do more damage than good with one single contract, such money attached could have very dire repercussions. Also he would obviously not go against a Dead Apostle Ancestor.

Inwardly, Harry was panicked "I would, unfortunately the name itself wouldn't say anything about it without the attached knowledge." How thankful he was to have practiced for such eventualities. It was glaringly obvious he would want to know the name to him.

Strangely, Harry thought it from his own point of view he would want to know who he would be killing. This worked for Kiritsugu, but in fact, most killers wouldn't want to or wouldn't care.

How strange how luck could make for a smoother meeting.

"Then it seems we are at an impasse. I do not take jobs without sufficient information Mr Potter". "So unless you stop witholding information, I will have to decline your offer" 'Which would be a Shame.' Kiritsugu thought 'People need this money'.

Panic flickered in the young magus eyes - He could not afford that. "There is not much I can tell you about it like I said without endangering anyone…" He could feel that Kiritsugu was preparing to leave as he slowly backed up and reached for the doorknob "But a lot of people will die if this creature is allowed to live! The kind of person I'm asking you to kill isn't an innocent if this is the problem-" Kiritsugu Emiya whirled around at this, his demeanor slightly changing but none of what he felt openly displayed "How many people would we be talking about?" Kiritsugu asked his hand still on the doorknob.

Relieved but grim Harry replied "We are speaking about the whole non-magical population of Britain as well as a good portion of the magical one for starters if he isn't stopped."

Emiya's hand froze on the doorknob as he slowly turned back, a sharp look crossing his face.

* * *

Harry felt that the conversation had shifted for some reason. Could it be that this Assassin for hire actually cared about who would die ? How unexpected, from Ragnok's descriptions he had imagined a ruthless killing machine with nary a human feeling except greed.

Instead the intense yet aloof killer suddenly gave off the feeling of being more involved in the situation.

Kiritsugu Emiya lit a cigarette then proceeded to drag some smoke out of it "Then let's test that shall we ?" Kiritsugu reached in his coat, Harry immediately tensed as a result.

Expecting a wand or any sort of weapon the younger man was surprised to see Kiritsugu get out an official looking scroll out of his pocket, he seemed to have come prepared.

"This is my own Geas, or Magical Contract in case you are not… Familiar with such." Emiya gave off a look that could pass as a smirk "You sign mine and I will see about seeing yours."

On this unexpected turn of events, Harry's face cracked a bit to show some lack of assurance, Kiritsugu had a feeling that it was when a fight would break out as a contract left very few escape routes.

What he did expect only marginally was the green-eyed teenager to ask "What would be the terms?" A cautious one.

"The terms would be simple." Kiritsugu dragged some more on his cigarette "As you know a contract cannot include vagues clauses that are up to interpretation such as "You cannot Lie to me." as it is only valid on the subject at hand when signing the contract without an exterior element feeding power to the contract continuously." Harry nodded, so far it respected what Ragnok said to him about all magical contracts "In the same fashion "You cannot Betray me" only works for a short while on feelings already present at the time of the signing, not on wants that would come later on where once again, it would be up to interpretation on what you feel as betrayal and what I feel as betrayal".

Discarding his finished cigarette and almost reaching for a new one as he did so he managed keeping himself from it as he looked at Harry pointedly "Thus we will keep things fairly simple. The terms will be as follow… You will sign a contract to the effect of the truth of what you just said to me from your point of view, and your intention to truly hire me and pay me for the amount stated in your contract." Almost… smugly he pursued "This geas will be signed by blood." There, the catch.

Even when telling the truth, no proper magus would freely give his blood to a contract as it shortened dramatically any loopholes. Also, because if was foolish as the contract would use the owner of the blood as a moral compass on any admittedly vague meanings.

As opposed to an object, it was susceptible to change slightly or not so slightly at any moment as humans and magus especially are fickle. It was a double edged sword too, as magus were resourceful you could never predict. Who knows what some sealing designate potential could do to alter his blood in a way that would exempt him from the contract ?

A geas for most magi was absolute - however he knew that it was far from it. Mysteries allowing wiggle room were few and far between but they existed. Without a throughout analysis of someone's mysteries it was better to be safe than sorry.

For a single punctual moment though, it was perfect.

So perfect in fact that there was no way for his would-be contractor to accept it.

"I see." Potter mused "As long as the terms are thus I have no issue signing it then."

Kiritsugu Emiya felt surprise etch itself on his face for the first time in a long while.

* * *

The Geas itself was a very simple one, detailing clauses such as the fact that the person contracted to kill was a danger to a great many people as well as the fact that Harry truly did want to pay him for such work. If any of these facts were false in the young wizard's mind then his life would be forfeit.

There was no hesitation to be found on him, even considering his traumatic past experiences with his own blood when he used his bloodied index finger to sign the Geas.

"It seems I'm still alive" Harry allowed himself some dry humor as he stared at Kiritsugu. "Now it is your turn".

Kiritsugu internally whistled. "Show me your contract.".

* * *

Kiritsugu stared at the piece of contractual juridiction before his eyes and once again internally whistled.

Some crooked jurist had gone leaps and bound to ensure it was as bereft of loopholes as possible. Not that he intended to betray his client unless given reason, but he was alive today because of his capability to take advantage of any situation. One of the only things he took pride in, if he was still capable of felling such an unnecessary emotion.

He felt a twinge of pain at the image of Illya.

The contract stated plainly that nothing he learned about his client, his background or origins could be divulged in any way, shape, or form intentionally to anyone outside those already in the know. It was the only thing that really surprised him as everything else was perfectly common outside of the wording which was as intricate as humanly possible.

He would be paid as soon as a man called Tom Marvolo Riddle Jr also known as Lord Voldemort was killed for good with no possibility of return (?).

Full information in the measure of truth on the hit would be disclosed fully as soon as the contract was signed and until both parties left the place of the signing in a maximum of one hour after said signature.

Any negotiations on additional costs for possible material additions would be taken care of by the contractor himself to a value upwards to 10% of the intended final payment.

Payment would be enforced by the contract itself as it is currently held on an independent account - As soon as the contract is finished the funds would be transferred to one of Kiritsugu Emiya's mirror accounts.

All in one, the terms were simple and straightforward, it was the causes of irreparability as well as clauses of mutual release that were so tightly bound that even an army of miners would be hard-pressed to dig a hole in it.

With such a snarky jurist behind it, he could very well see one loophole could have been added for the contractor only and then hidden away… If not for the fact that the terms were almost as binding for him that for the contracted! Whatever happened there would be no way for the contractor to take back his money.

It could once again be a bait, but as long as he kept his end of the bargain, the money would be his - A trap within a trap. Taking advantage of someone else trap.

But he needed information. Information to be sure he could even take down said target. Who knows? Maybe this Lord Voldemort was an alias of a Dead Apostle Ancestor, in which way he would truly be out of his depth.

He could not even be sure that the boy in front of him was not a proxy, which could be highly possible.

'The contract however does not state that I cannot do away with him' Emiya thought 'Only that if he dies by my hand, the money would be frozen which would be idiotic of me to try as long as I need it.' A plan started to form itself in his mind 'Hence, if after he is forced to give me information I find it to be a trap, I can kill him, nothing forces me to go after this Lord Voldemort if I do not want the money, there is no downside for failure after all, neither is there a time limit.' He exhaled.

'At first I thought it was a loophole but it isn't, they knew I would be wary and put this to confort me in my ability to trust them reasonably but yet…' He was perturbed 'It means that if this teenager is really the contractor, then he is fully prepared to risk everything to kill that one person'. His teeth clenched 'He walked here as a Man ready to die.'

'Who are you, Harry Potter ?' It unnerved him.

He steeled himself, and signed the contract.

* * *

Emiya Kiritsugu's mind reeled from what he just learned.

Wizard and Magi? Two different type of spell-casters ? One of which lived stuck in Victorian England ?

A whole Government of them that both The Association, and The Church ignored ?

Organized as a society ?

All of these… Under their proverbial nose as well as protected by a Spell dating back to the Age of Gods ? Which powered the Contract he had just signed which stopped him from revealing it ?

Kiritsugu Emiya was never much of a researcher, he was an Heretic, someone using Magecraft not for the sake of it or as mystery but as a weapon for his own ambitions.

This did not mean he had not his own curiosity explaining his action of using structural analysis on Harry Potter.

What he found was… Strange to say the least. Anormal is what he would say actually. He did have a Magic Circuit. Not in plural, one of them. One single of them but…

Instead of being a nerve-like connexion allowing to channel Prana by converting Od and Ambiant Mana it was a single Cable-Like connexion, like a Pipe, it was wider by considerable proportion than a magic circuit.

It was an amalgamation of Magic Circuits, he was no researcher yet he could tell that this single Magic Circuit was enough to channel the equivalent of 90 Magic Circuit of High Quality. It was both stronger and much less malleable and controllable than several circuits taken alone.

This could only mean that he either had an incredible luck to draw a one in several billions straw as a first generation mage, or that he was the Scion of very old family of Magu…-Wizards - he guessed which performed selective breeding.

Or all wizard had such reserves and it was very worrying.

However his hunch was that the person in front of him was the exception rather than the rules, it was only an hunch but…

He did not live to his age doing what he did daily by spurning his instinct.

Another thing that yet perplexed him was the strange… Growth ? That festered on his body and soul. He was not an expert of structural grasping as it was a very limited art in itself, yet, even he could see it plain as day. On his client's person, on the place where this bolt-shaped scar was upon on his forehead was a metaphysical presence, as if a parasite feeding upon his Prana.

Said parasite appeared to be linked to something else if the circuit-like appendix protruding out of it was any indication. Thus, he would have to watch for it, possibilities were that his client was aware of said growth - It could even be a mystery belonging to his family - hence why it would have to be discreet.

It seemed he had his work cut out for him.

* * *

"I will need more information than that." For now he felt out of his depth, the target was not an Apostle, or a mundane _or_ a magus, it was a whole new can of worms, on which he needed detailed information.

Needed to take apart his target and stack the deck to his advantage.

For now, he only know they used massively manufactured Mystic Codes called Wand which were used to make a painless artificial circuit. Said circuit was then used to draw small amounts of prana upon their own Circuit (not in plural) to use it in predetermined actions. Such were usually Latin Words. Velocity of the spell was rarely variable. Power depended on the individual using them as well as external factors such as emotions.

Non-assisted magecraft through mystic codes was rare and limited.

What he did not understand was how all these people knowing the same mysteries did not weaken it ? He was missing something there. Was it a form of Divine Words ? It was impossible as they were no longer in an Age of The Gods.

His contractor had said as much. Even if they did have a weird fixation on Merlin according to him. Why said historical figure who did not quality as an Heroic Spirit as he never died according to most was thus revered was completely foreign to him.

"I need information on this Lord Voldemort character, habits, age, height are all mandatory data. As well as body fitness and if possible, traits of character." He listed off intently "I need possible footage of his fights if at all possible, scholastic record or whatever equivalents and most importantly, any flaw you are positive you have identified." This was not a foolish warrior going to a fight. This was a snake prodding a target to finally and swiftly deliver a lethal bite.

Quite probably the most lethal one in the world at that.

Harry looked at him, as intently as unsure on how to proceed "I may have a way to provide footage." He chewed on his lips, this was a spur of the moment idea, yet, it could work.

"Oh?" Kiritsugu looked interested, apparently the saturation of magic in a given area stopped mundane appliances from working, but to him that was Bull.

He never had any issues with ambiant prana.

"There is an instrument known as a pensive that allows one to project his memories, I could show you recollections of my encounters with him, you may see things I would not." Of course he would, at the time, Harry was too preoccupied with surviving than any other observation.

The young man was surprised though at his own perceived efficiency, here he was, plotting in a very real way _the Death_ of his mortal enemy while being able _to provide input_.

Should it scare him ? Most likely. Did he care ? He could not bring himself to.

Voldemort was an error, a blight upon the world which should not be allowed to live in his mind.

"How soon would you be able to procure it ?" Kiritsugu asked seriously as he lighted a Cigarette.

"I don't know but it shouldn't take long, I won't hold back on the means." Potter said resolutely.

Money made everything easier, after all.

* * *

Surprisingly indeed, acquiring a Pensive was easy enough, an Invention of Nicholas Flamel which was commercialized in the Seventeenth Century. Its rarity came from the price of expertise needed to make it. Not to go into a long-winded explanation, it was made out of a special stone bathed in Moonlight and then treated with a special potion over the course of two years. Runes had to be inscribed several times during the process in an almost alchemical procedure under the sunlight this time.

Something about likening it to the mind of Man. Or some such.

At least that was the drivel the seller had for it, one he found not on Knockturn Alley or Diagon Alley but as a specially contracted rune-master who only took mail orders.

It was delivered by portkey, of all things, but it was there, even if somehow it was less… mystical than Dumbledore's.

As long as it worked though, it was fine.

He was afraid at first that contacting Kiritsugu would be difficult, but he just gave him Rendez-vous to a specific Hotel Room in which he was completely in the Killer's domain.

Was it for getting back at him for inviting him in what was perceived as his territory earlier ?

"You are early." The Killer said nonchalantly. How he managed to be the epitome of readiness while looking as casual as he did, reading a newspaper of all things, he did not know.

Harry shot back "I'm later than I would like." As the deposited an heavy package on the main study.

Kiritsugu merely stared, it was oddly reminiscent of someone to him. "You have the device ?"

Rather than respond, Harry got out the Pensieve, accompanied by several vials containing a set of Memories each. All of Voldemort. The misty like substance swirled in a threatening manner, as if announcing a storm.

It was slightly depressive to see how many of them there were.

"How do we proceed from now ?" The Emiya male asked "After all, you are the one knowing how this works".

"We dive into it, one after another and the memories will play as if we were there." The young Potter spent the previous year diving in said pensieve repeatedly. Enough to drive him mad.

Kiritsugu sharply intervened "Actually we will go both at the same time." No sense in going first and possibly be trapped by a possible artifact or leaving his client possibility to set one by going first to.

The last Potter felt uneasy at was he felt was a "Faux-pas", he should not give reasons for the Killer to suspect him or Voldemort would keep being a problem.

On a similar mental count, they dived through the memories.

* * *

On the association of Type Moon & Harry Potter, a lot can be said. They both use magic yet in very, very different way. It's like opposing reality to fantastic. Yet, such an opposition can, I believe, bring about a very interesting contrast if done in a believable way.

Here, "Wizards" have instead of Magic Circuits, one singular circuit. Not a core as this has never been confirmed in HP's canon (only considering the Books as Canon though.) and in Type Moon's verse only concerns Saber (From her Dragon's Ancestry). Said Magic Circuit is used by said Wizards through wands which make an artificial circuit between it and the Wizard's "Pipe". Thus allowing for usage of mana. Said Wizards are almost never overtaxed to the point of pain as the Circuit's true capacity is never used all at once. Though, the Wand itself may have issues. The level of power depends on the Wizard, we all know Harry's power, don't we?

I won't go into further details as the story will, and explaining it here would be admitting I cannot do so in a believable way in the course of said story.

To answer **Nine Lives Bladeworks :** It would have to be a deliberate reveal as worded in the original Fidelius Contract. The person has to be _meaning_ to break the secret!

Anyway, like always reviews are like meat, we authors crave it. They are also like wine, to go along with the meat.

Do you have wine?:D


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